A Sinister Tune
by bcampo
Summary: A swordsman is resurrected to battle an ageless evil.


The Crow: A Sinister Tune

By  [Brian Campo][1] (bcampo@hotmail.com)

* * *

A warning of sorts, for those that might choose to enter here. This is not a pretty path you take, evil resides within these pages. Evil is filthy and dark, it does not cater to personal taste or religious beliefs. It is violent, it is perverted, and it means to offend, if not nauseate. If you are easily offended, go no farther. If you do, the blame rest upon your head, not mine. (In other words, this story contains graphic violence, sexual situations, graphic sexual violence, harsh language and a lot of other stuff your mom would be pissed to know you're reading. It is rated R)   
  


Edgar was clever, that was the consensus with the children in the cave. Some thought he was foolishly clever, and most likely going to get them all killed, but there was no doubt that he was a clever boy, and he beamed in their adoration. He was quick with his wits and he was quicker with his hands, and though the piece of work he had done earlier would probably amount to nothing, he knew that he had the respect of his peers. 

"Idle hands are the devil's workshop." is how the saying goes, and Edgar knew all about it. If he got bored enough, he could work up the courage to do anything. He had been brought to the cave a month earlier, and it didn't take long for him to realize that there wasn't much in the way of entertainment here. He had explored the intricate network of tunnels running out from the cave, making sure that there wasn't some tiny opening through which he could squeeze his ten year old frame. Finding nothing there, he started looking at the wards that blocked the entrance. 

There were two columns to each side of the opening which made the wards. They were made of some sort of metal that Edgar thought might be bronze. They work, of that there was no doubt. The wards looked like mirages, or heat waves, barely visible shimmers in the air. He had tried walking through them, and had received a blast of pain throughout his skull, so powerful that he had thought he was dying. He wasn't bored enough to try experimenting with them again. Yet. 

He had turned instead to studying the patterns of their captor. The man with the flute and the pretty gypsy girl came around every other day to bring them food, usually bread and water, occasionally jerked mutton. The wards didn't seem to bother him, not as far as Edgar could see. The man passed through them without so much as a flinch. 

He was not one for words. The few times Edgar had heard him speak, he issued short barked commands, which the children quickly learned were to be obeyed. Randy, one of the older boys in the cave, had been stupid enough not to obey when the Piper told him to get back. The Piper whistled a short tune, and Randy spent the next two days curled up in a corner, clutching at his head. Then there was the case of Brett, who had actually had the gaul to attack the Piper. Edgar didn't like to think about what had happened to him, or the thing that had done it to him. 

The result of all this was that the children stayed back while the girl layed out their food for them. Usually, the girl kept her eyes averted when she was laying out their meals, and Edgar thought it might be from shame. She confirmed it once, when she looked up and he caught her eye. Her expression was sorrowful, and she mouthed the words, I'm sorry. After that, he began to think that maybe she was in the same boat that they were, only her cave had a little more headroom. 

Over the coming weeks, he noticed changes in the other children in the cave. They had less and less energy every day. At first, Edgar thought might be because of their incarceration and poor diet, but soon he thought there might be more to it than that. He thought that something about the cave might be draining the very life out of them. "Do I look that tired and run down?" he wondered sometimes. The more he thought about it, the more he resolved that he would find a way out of here. 

On two seperate occasions, the children awoke to find that one of the weaker children had disappeared. They searched the tunnels, and smaller caves, but to no avail. The children were no where to be found. A few of the children had suggested that maybe the Piper had come and taken them while they were sleeping. Some thought that maybe their parents had paid off their debts so the children had been allowed to go home. Edgar had a suspicion that the cave itself had taken them, once it had drained them of every once of life. He kept it to himself, though. Best not to scare the other kids. 

One day, he was as bored as usual, and was inspecting the columns that made the wards. He looked at the wall next to them, and noticed a tiny chink in the rock that formed a half inch wide ledge. His eyes drifted up, and he studied the stalactite covered ceiling. A plan was forming in his brain, and he was just bored enough to try it. 

"You know," he muttered to himself. "If my boot heel is strong enough . . . " He turned his foot over and took a critical look at his foot wear. It might work. 

They had been fed earlier that afternoon, which meant that he had two days to try out his plan to see if he could make it work. He doubted it would get him out of the cave, but it would help relieve some of the boredom, which was inspiration enough for him. The other children in the cave had called him crazy, amongst other things, but they were willing to help as long as he was willing to take the blame. That suited him just fine, and he enlisted the aid of some of the taller boys to help him get into position. He made all of them promise that they would not look at him. He was well aware of the danger. At best, he would be punished severely, at worst... well, it was best not to think about that. 

When the Piper and the girl came round, it was actually working quite well. From his perch above the entrance, Edgar watched the girl set out the food, and looked down on the top of the Piper's head. They had no idea he was there. He was doing his best to suppress the urge to giggle madly. He was actually pulling one over on the spooky old bastard. 

He was wearing only one boot, and the heel of it was jammed against that minuscule chink in the rock. He leaned forward, putting his weight against one of the stalactites hanging from the cave's ceiling. 

His other foot he had left bare. He wasn't going to risk his life for a stupid trick like this, and not have something to show for it. He looked at the bag that hung from the Piper's back, and tried to decide which of the rolls of paper inside he would take. He prayed that the other children would keep their promise and not look up at him, and began, slowly, to lower his foot toward the bag. To him, the rasp of his toe on the paper was deafening, and he froze with bated breath, fearing the Piper would turn at any second and see him. The Piper continued looking the other way. Edgar pinched the edge of the paper between his big toe and the one next to it and then began to gently pull. The paper came easily. Once it was free, he bent his leg at the knee and lifted the paper up where he could grab it with his free hand. Inside, he was cheering and preparing a thank you speech for the other children later. 

When the girl finished with the food, she picked up the basket she had brought it in and walked over to the Piper. "Please don't look up." Edgar repeated in his head, and almost as if she had heard him, she looked up. It was only for a fraction of a second, but there was no doubt she saw him. She looked back down quickly, and then reached for the Piper's hand. Without a word the two of them walked back through the ward and out of the cave. Edgar breathed a sigh of relief, and then jumped down from his perch. 

"You have got to be the craziest son of a bitch I've ever met!" said Theodore, a chubby boy who wore spectacles. "He could have killed you." 

Edgar waved him off, as if fear of being killed was the last thing on his mind. 

"What is it?" said Emily, pointing at the paper that Edgar had stolen. She was a very proper girl, and would be the last to let Edgar bask in the glory of his achievement. That was alright, the rest of the children knew. 

"I don't know." he said and tore off the little ribbon that kept the paper rolled up. He unrolled it and looked it over. After a second, disappointment dawned on his face. "It's gibberish." he said. He knew how to read a little, but what was written on that piece of paper was just a bunch of nonsense. He cursed, angry that he had gone through so much trouble for nothing. 

"Let me see." said Emily and Edgar handed over the paper before walking off across the cave to get his missing boot. The other children crowded around Emily to get a better look at the treasure. "It's music." she said. 

Edgar turned back. "What?" 

"It's music. I think it's one of His songs." 

Maybe there was something to that thing, thought Edgar. There was still a chance he could be the hero in all this. He walked back over and shoved some kids out of the way so he could look over Emily's shoulder. 

"Can you read it?" he asked. 

"I think so." she replied. Figures, thought Edgar. She came from a rich family, and no doubt had taken harpsichord lessons or something of the sort. "I might even be able to sing it." she said. "Give me light." The kids spread out, letting her have light from the doorway. She studied the paper for a moment, and hummed a few notes, as if testing it. Finally, she looked up at Edgar, a questioning look on her face. 

"Should I?" 

"What have we got to lose?" he said. 

She took a deep breath and began to sing. There were no words, just notes, and to Edgar, her voice was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. It reverberated in the cave, the haunting melody bouncing back to them out of countless tunnels. There was power in that song, he could feel it. Every hair on his head was standing on end. 

When she sang the last notes, they stood in silence, listening to the last echoes, and waiting to see what would happen. Nothing did. 

"I don't think it worked." said Theodore, and the other children moaned. Emily shrugged and handed the paper back to Edgar. 

"It was worth a try." she said. 

Edgar looked at the paper again before folding it up and putting it in his pocket. He couldn't shake the feeling that maybe it had worked.   
  


Gabriel Allday walked up out of the stairwell, thick fragrant smoke billowing up out of the open doorway behind him. He was a black man of average height and excellent proportion. While his color and facial features were definitely negro, his eyes had a slant to them that spoke of an asian heritage as well. His head was closely shaved, with only a hint of stubble. His face sported tattoos, fine lines that spiraled out from the tops and bottoms of his eyes, each made up of hundreds of tiny dots. 

His clothing did not suggest that he was a man of wealth. His attire consisted of dirty brown, baggy trousers, knee high boots that folded down a little at the top, and a long dark over coat. He wore no shirt. Still, he had a dignity to him. He didn't carry him self like a man that had spent his life being beaten or shackled. Gabriel had the air of a man that had been free since birth. 

His hand opened to reveal what he had purchased while he was downstairs. He looked down at the off-white linen bag he held in his hand and tossed it in his hands a few times as if judging its weight. Apparently satisfied, Gabriel reached in under his cloak and deposited the small bag in some hidden pocket within. 

Across the street, a crow rested on a roof top, watching him. It had shown no interest in following him into the opium den earlier, choosing instead to wait for him outside. Now that he had come back out, it rose into the air and fluttered down to come to rest on his shoulder. Gabriel clucked at it affectionately and the crow rubbed its head against his ear lovingly. 

He started down the street to his right, toward the docks. He had a boat to catch, one that would take him to Europe. That part of his journey would be much easier, more so than the last part, anyway. That had been long days and nights walking across marshes and mountains, following the crow east to New England. Once on the boat, he would have time to rest, time to prepare for the challenge that awaited him across the sea. 

It wasn't long before the ground beneath his feet turned from cobblestone to wooden planking, the sound of his boots turning from a clicking to a hollow clunking. He had reached the harbor front board walk, and sailing ships filled his vision to the left and to the right. Every where he looked, there were people moving, pushing, shoving, lifting crates. Wagons and carts were being loaded and unloaded. Sails were being raised while others were being dropped as their ships were tied to their docks. The sun was out and its light was blinding coming off the water. 

"Mind yourself, lad." said a man as he pushed past Gabriel with a cart full of dried meat and potatoes. Gabriel did a little bow and stepped out of the man's way. He walked among the sailors and merchants, enjoying the sea air, the sunshine and the drone of noise around him. There was so much . . . life here. 

He knew he was wasting time, but he was sore pressed to be about the business at hand. After a few more moments, he gave in and decided it was time to find his ship. 

"Which one?" he asked, looking at the crow with one eyebrow raised. 

The crow squawked a reply, which must have meant something to Gabriel, because he turned to his left and made his way around the harbor. He weaved in and out of stacks of freight, and casks of drink. One was leaking and Gabriel caught the strong scent of rum coming off the pool of liquid beneath it. A dog was licking at it and would stop every other second to sneeze unhappily. From one of the smaller boats, he heard the snap of leather. There were a couple of boys firing rocks from slings at the seagulls circling over head. Their aim was not very good. Their father came on deck and scolded them, giving each a firm clip behind the ear with the flat of his hand. 

Rising out of the smaller boats around it, Gabriel saw the ship the crow had indicated docked ahead. Dolly's Sloop was the name on the bow, a low class name for a middle class ship. Gabriel was still three hundred feet away from it when he heard the quick footsteps of someone running behind him. He turned to see an unkempt man slide to a stop on the dock with a rapier in his hand. He held it as though he had every intention of using it. 

"I want you to understand something." said the man with the sword. "I really don't want to do this." 

Gabriel looked him up and down, taking in the bags under the man's eyes, the three day beard growth, the clothes that had obviously been slept in. There was a wild desperation in the man's eyes, one that Gabriel recognized from a mirror he had looked into a few weeks back. 

"Then don't do it." he said and turned away from the man and his blade. He began to walk away, and he heard the man trotting along behind him, trying to keep up with Gabriel's easy stride. 

"I don't have a choice here." the man called after him. 

"You always have a choice." Gabriel replied, never breaking stride. 

"He's got my daughter." 

Gabriel slowed, eventually stopping and turning to face the man, who was panting now from trying to catch up. 

"He's got my little girl." said the man. "He said that if I came here and met you, tried to kill you, he'd let her go. I've got no choice." He raised the blade again. The tip of the blade was bouncing erratically, for the hand that grasped the sword was shaking. "No choice." he repeated, as much to convince himself as Gabriel. 

"I'm am on my way to deal with him right now." said Gabriel. "If your daughter is with him, she will go free. You have my word." 

"Not good enough. I'm sure you are a man of your word, but you're certainly not the first who's tried to kill The Piper. I have his word that he will let her go. He may be vile, he may be evil, but he is a man of his word. I don't even have to win, I just have to fight you and he lets her go. You can't give me a better deal than that." 

He made a quick lunge, thrusting his blade at Gabriel's midsection. Gabriel stepped back, out of striking distance. "You're not supposed to win." he said. He reached up and untied the cord that held his cloak around his neck. Sensing what was coming, the crow took to the air. "You're just a message from him. That's all. You're his way of saying, "Hey, I see you. I know you're coming." He knows that I will kill you." His cloak fell off, onto the ground. It was clear now that he had been hiding a rapier of his own beneath it. 

"What is your name, sir?" asked Gabriel, drawing his sword and strolling back toward his attacker. 

"Jim Thomas." said the man. He was fairly quaking in his boots now that he saw Gabriel was armed. 

"Well, Jim Thomas, you still have time to walk away from this. You don't have to let your name be added to the list of atrocities that the man has committed. You can turn around, go home and wait for your daughter to come to you. I will stop him." He said the last line with a cold certainty, as if he were saying that the sun would come up tomorrow. " Wouldn't you rather be alive when she comes looking for you?" 

Jim turned away from Gabriel and squeezed his eyes shut. Tears welled up out from under his lids and poured down his cheeks. "No," he said. "I don't think I would." A second later he was in motion, his sword slicing the air in front of Gabriel. Gabriel accepted the attack, parrying off his attackers blows easily. Everything about him said that he knew blades. From his quickly shifting foot work to his thick muscular wrists that could stop a sword in mid-slice and quickly change direction in an instant. He was a blur as he forced Jim Thomas back down the dock, scattering the people that had stopped to watch this spectacle. 

"Do you still want this?" he shouted. "There's no dishonor in living to see another day." 

"Shut up and fight me!" replied Thomas, who was breaking out in a sweat. He was on the defense now, too busy fending off the black's lightning strikes to even take a cut at him. He was backing up now, so he was having to divide his attention between his sword and staying on his feet. 

"Is this not good enough?" asked Gabriel. "I can do better." 

The tempo of the fight turned up a notch and Jim felt slices on his forearms and thighs. Gabriel's sword was moving so fast now that he could not even see the blows, he could only feel the sting after they landed. Even at his best, when he was twenty-five, he was no match for the man he faced now. And twenty-five was twenty years gone. He tripped over a broken crate and fell on his ass. Trying to win himself a second of space, he kicked the crate pieces toward Gabriel. He scrambled to his feet and backed into an open alley. 

"There's still time." whispered Gabriel. "Run. You seem like a good man, and I don't want to kill you." 

Jim launched himself at him, pouring every once of speed and strength into his sword arm. Gabriel beat back his desperate offense and slashed him painfully across the front of the knees. 

"It's coming." said Gabriel. "Soon it will be too late." 

"Well, then for fuck's sake do it!" screamed Thomas, his voice cracking. 

"Don't make me do this!" said Gabriel. "It doesn't have to be this way." 

"Strike, damn you!" said the other man. "Stri---" 

Gabriel turned his head at the last second, unable to watch the blow go home. He felt the blade slide through the man's body and into the wall behind him. A second later, his victim's weight dropped onto the thin blade, and he could hear the air seeping out of a punctured lung. 

"Yes." he said. "Damn me." 

On the deck of Dolly's Sloop, George Hackard watched the activity down the dock with one hand held over his eyebrow to shade his eyes. Something had happened earlier. What, he didn't know, but there were constables all over the docks now, looking for someone or something. 

Behind him, his crew was making last minute preparations before they set sail. They were very good, and he was glad that he didn't half to watch them every second to make sure they didn't fuck up. He ignored them completely now, enjoying the show he was seeing played out on the dock. He watched one of the constables pull out his billy club and beat a man into the ground for something he had said. George was too far away to hear, but he was pretty sure it must have been rough to stir the cop up like that. 

"Sir?" said a voice behind him. 

He turned and saw Anthony, one of his lookouts, standing next to a black man with strange designs tattooed on his face. A crow was sitting on the black man's shoulders. 

"This fella wants a ride to Spain with us." 

George looked the black over and said, "Are you wanting to work to pay your way?" 

The man reached under his coat and pulled out a bag of coins. The bag was quite full. "No, sir." said the man. "I'll pay my way." 

"You a slave?" 

"No. I was born free." 

"You got papers?" 

"No." 

"I don't think I like the looks of you." said George. 

"But you do like the looks of my purse, don't you? It's all yours. I'm your dream passenger. I don't eat much, I sleep on the deck, I shit over the side, and I got a bag full of money that I want you to have. What do you say?" 

Hackard considered for a second and then said, "The crow coming with you?" 

The black nodded. 

"Well, you better clean up after it." He took the purse from the man and stuffed it into his shirt. "What's your name?" 

"Gabriel, sir. Gabriel Allday." 

"Welcome aboard, stay out of the way."   
  


Over the next few days, George rarely saw Gabriel. As he went about his day, he might see him sitting at the bow, or resting on a pile of sail cloth. Usually smoking a bowl of the reefer he had brought with him on board. Sometimes he would be walking through one of the lower decks and he would catch a whiff of the pungent stuff, and know that the man had been here only a moment before. Once, he saw Gabriel tossing double edged daggers at the base of the main mast, sinking the blade into the same cut time after time. He didn't talk to the other sailors, and they stayed away from him. He certainly kept to his own company, but as he was not starting trouble of any kind, that was fine with Hackard. 

It was just that everything about the man seemed very mysterious, from the bird he traveled with, to the strange tattoos on his face. Where could a black man gotten all the money that he had handed over to Hackard when he came on board? George found himself pondering the puzzle of his strange passenger more than once over the first few days of the voyage. 

As far as he could tell, Gabriel was true to his word. He never saw him in serving line at meal times, and he had never caught that crow of his crapping on his deck. It had struck him as funny when he came out on the second morning and heard the crow cawing from the little platform atop their highest mast. "Crow's nest, indeed." he had chuckled to himself. 

On the fourth morning, he had woke up early with a bad case of the trots, and so he was on deck well before dawn. He found himself a witness to something quite amazing. 

The black was out in an open space on the deck with a rapier sword practicing forms, barely visible against the black horizon behind him. George had been around the world and back and knew a fine swords man when he saw one. This Gabriel Allday was just such a man. He watched the man work through the seven basic forms, performing each flawlessly, before moving onto the next level, which included twelve forms that George barely recognized. The next set Hackard could give no opinion of, for he had never seen anything like them. A few looked like they might have been combinations of simpler forms, but most were too fast to even discern. 

Hackard watched for twenty minutes, until Gabriel sheathed his sword and picked up his cloak from where he had dropped it. 

"That was splendid." said Hackard. 

"Thank you." said Gabriel. He showed no sign of being startled, much to Hackard's surprise. He had thought that Gabriel was unaware of his presence. 

Gabriel reached into the cloak and pulled out a dirty linen bag and an odd looking pipe. His hash makings, George realized. 

"Might I ask how a person of your color would have come to be such a fine swords man?" Hackard's stomach grumbled, but he had been nursing a curiosity for this fellow since day one and be damned if he was going to let his diarrhea stop him from answering some questions. 

"My education for the blade was a reward of sorts for saving a life." 

"Who was your teacher?" asked Hackard, not satisfied with vague details. 

"Frances Denham. He was quite the master in his younger days. Taught at military academies up and down the coast. When I met him he was in his late seventies, toothless, hairless, and but with still a fair amount of spring in his step." 

"How did you save his life?" 

"Oh, it wasn't his. It was his grandson's. My father was an architect and was working on the Denham families home. It was a very big project and the job kept us in North Carolina for three years. With nothing else to do, the grandson, Eddie and I would always go exploring in the surrounding marshes, and swim in the deeper pools. One day, he was crawling up on the bank when a water moccasin jumped out of a hole just under the edge and bit him. He fell in the water and started screaming bloody murder. I pulled him out of the water, and when I saw how bad he had been bitten, I threw him over my shoulder and carried him home. It was four miles, but I made it." 

"How old were you?" 

"Nine." 

Hackard whistled appreciatively. 

"When I got him home," continued Gabriel."I told them what had happened and they took over from there. I was standing there shaking from running so far while carrying that much weight, and they all just ran off to take care of their boy without so much as a thank you. My father was proud of me, and told me so, but the boy's father never even said a word to me. 

A week goes by, and Eddie is better and back on his feet. He runs over and tells me that his Grandfather wants me to come with Eddie and meet him in the orchard. I came right away, wondering what this was about. Frances was waiting for us with three fencing swords. He started teaching us the blade. 

My father was furious. He believed that if a man carried a blade, he was inviting trouble. We went round and round about it, and in the end, he decided that a person has to choose their own path. He left it up to me, and I continued to learn from Frances. Eddie quit showing up in the orchard after a month, but I kept learning for the next two and a half years, until my father moved me. I had learned more than enough from Denham to dazzle my way into any academy that I found in the various cities we lived. The instructors watched me like I was some trained monkey, but I didn't care. I was learning." 

He held his hands open, as if that were all there was to tell. He pulled out a pinch of his reefer and stuffed it into the bowl of his pipe. With a dramatic flourish of the hand, he produced a match out of thin air and flicked it alight with his thumbnail. He put the flame to the green in the bowl and inhaled deeply. When he exhaled, it sounded like a sigh of contentment. 

"Can I ask you another thing?" asked George. 

Gabriel nodded, spewing smoke out of his wide nostrils. 

"Why do you smoke that garbage? Doesn't it mess with your coordination as a swords man?" 

Gabriel took another hit and held it for a second before exhaling and answering. "It helps dull the pain so I can concentrate on the forms." 

"Are you injured?" Hackard had seen no wounds on the man. 

"No." said Gabriel. "It's a phantom pain I feel, like a man who has lost his leg, or arm and says that he can still feel it." His match had burned down to his thumb, and he dropped it onto the deck. "I have a phantom lover. I can still feel her even though she is long gone." He lit another match and inhaled again. "The reefer takes away just enough of the pain that I can deal with it." 

"How did she die?" Hackard felt a stabbing pain in his gut, and realized that he was running out of time to make it to the loo. Gabriel tapped the ashes out of his pipe and put everything back into the linen bag, even picking up the burnt matches and dropping them into his pocket. 

"Perhaps that is a story for another time." he said. He turned away, looking out over the water as the sun peeked over the horizon. 

Winded is the sailor . . . drifting by the storm . . .   
Wounded is the organ he left all . . . bloodied on the shore . . .   
Gorgeous was his savior, sees her . . . drowning in his wake . . .   
Daily taste the salt of her tears, but . . . a chance blamed fate . . .   
-Eddie Vedder 

George didn't see Gabriel for two whole days, and began to wonder if the man had perhaps thrown himself over board. On the third morning, however, he saw him leaning off the starboard side, watching the water racing beneath. His ever present crow sat on the railing next to him, the wind beating its feathers around. While he still had many questions he wanted answered, something told George that this was not the time to ask. The man was obviously avoiding company. 

The next few weeks passed peacefully. The weather was with them, and they were making good time. The crew was in good spirits, because they knew they might be docking as much as four days early and would have sometime to spend some money they had earned. La Caruna had a million ways to part a sailor from his coins. George was a happy man, for there might even be a bonus waiting for him if he were to pull into dock early. 

Three weeks after leaving the states, trouble started. 

George had turned in for the night, leaving the ship in the capable hands of his first mate. At a little after midnight he had snapped awake. He had heard some strange noise on from the deck above. He lay in his covers, staring at the ceiling above, waiting if to see if he heard it again. A full minute passed, and then he heard it again. A long drawn out note, like someone was playing one single chord on a violin. He sat up in bed and threw off his blankets. As he was pulling on his pants, the sound came again, and was accompanied by a scittering on the wood above him. Something about that sound made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up. 

He threw open the door to his cabin and climbed up to the deck to have a look around. He stood in the darkness, listening intently. A squeaking behind him made him turn quickly. It was only the wheel, which was spinning, unmanned. Where the hell was Jackson, his first mate? 

George start up the stairs to investigate, but heard the scittering sound again. He looked down the length of the ship, and thought he saw something moving down there. The long violin like note sounded again, and it was definitely coming from that end of the ship. He didn't like this. Not one bit. 

George went back down the stairs to his cabin, pulled out his locker and used a key to open it up. He removed from it a long cutlass with a battle chipped blade. Feeling better with it in his hand, he went back up on deck and headed toward the area of the ship that he had heard the sound coming from. There was a pile of water barrels in middeck, and when the sound came again, he realized that whatever was making it was behind those barrels. Putting one hand on the barrels, he tip-toed to the corner of the pile and carefully stuck his head around to have a look. It took a second for his eyes to accept what he was looking at. He jerked back, the breath suddenly gone from his lungs, his heart beating a double time rhythm. 

It had seen him. The scittering sound was explained now, as the thing came racing out after George, it's insectile feet tapping on the deck. The gore from the sailor it had been eating was still hanging from its lower jaw, and blood from it sprayed as the creature hissed at George. It stepped into a pool of lamp light, banishing any hopes of dismissing it as a trick of the light. George's mind was trying for all it was worth to make sense of its terrible form. 

"It's like some madman's painting." he thought. That tail. That's a scorpion's, no doubt about it. The hairy body with the drooping gut, possibly a rat or an opossum. The legs and feet were either scorpion or spider, he couldn't tell, but the hands and arms were all too human. They were black, with white palms. It had wings coming out of its back, like a locust. He could tell that it was getting excited because the wings were starting to rub together faster and faster. Between them, they produced the violin sound that had brought him from his bed. All in all, it was the size of a large lion. 

It moved toward him and for a second he was so stunned by the glimpse he got of its face that he was nearly hit when the tail struck. At the last second he saw it flash toward him, and he jumped out of the way. The tail hit the barrels next to him and the stinger punctured the side of one of them. Water dumped out on to the deck as the creature turned toward him and let out another hiss. Its wings were playing a minisymphony of agitation as it came after him again. 

George remembered his cutlass and brought it to bear between him and the monstrosity. If it knew what it was, it paid it no mind. Hackard began to back away as quick as he could, and when he got enough space to turn, he did so and ran toward the back of the ship. He could hear the thing scittering along the deck behind him. 

"Help!" he shouted. He ran up the stairs to the bridge, and saw why the wheel was unmanned. What was left of Jackson was laying on the ground next to it. The thing was at the top of the steps now and had caught sight of him again. Some of his men had come up from below decks, and he could here them shouting below. He yelled down to them, begging for them to help him. The creature scurried toward him. A clear liquid was streaming from the tip of its tail. 

George raised his cutlass half heartedly, and screamed. The tail snapped back and then lunged forward. An instant before the blow fell, Gabriel dropped onto the deck between them, rapier slashing. The creature took a cut across its tail and screeched horribly. Its hands lashed out, attempting to pull Gabriel's feet out from under him. He would have none of it. He danced out of their grasp and slashed the creature's wrists for its trouble. The creature took a step back, and Gabriel pressed his advantage. He cut at its tail again, shredding its wings in the process and ending it's horrid song. The creature lashed at him defensively, and (George would swear he saw it later.) the monster's stinger struck the man in the chest and sank in a good four inches. Gabriel raised his sword and brought it down one fluid motion that severed the tail completely. A second later, he was driving his sword into the thing's body repeatedly, hoping to hit something vital. The fight was over seconds later when the monster shrieked it's last and lay still. 

George sat for a few moments to collect himself, observing that his pants were wet, and he was shaking so hard he didn't ever think he would stop. When he thought he could speak without his voice cracking, and without bursting into tears, he asked, "Just what the hell have you brought on my ship?" 

Gabriel turned to him, with a questioning look on his face. "What makes you think I had anything to do with this?" 

George grabbed the railing next to him and pulled himself to his feet. He lunged across the deck so quickly that Gabriel backed off with his sword held at the ready. 

"Oh, I don't know." said George. He raised his cutlass and brought it down on the dead creatures neck. His blade fell three more time and he pulled the head free. "Call it a hunch." he said and held up his grisly trophy. The beast's face looked exactly like Gabriel.   
  


"If those men had seen this," said George, tapping the decapitated head between them. "they would have thrown you to the sharks, no questions asked. Now, would you care to convince me why I shouldn't show them? And you can start by telling me why the hell that . . . that . . . whatever the fuck that was, is wearing your face?" 

"I don't think you would believe me." said Gabriel. George had taken him and the head to his cabin, so that they could talk about this mess. The head was sitting in the middle of the table, in a bowl that usually held fruit. George hadn't put his cutlass down yet, he had it sitting on the table in front of him, as if he hadn't completely convinced himself that he wouldn't need it again that night. 

"I don't know. " said George. "I've seen some things tonight that have opened up my mind to endless possibilities. Why don't you give it a shot?" 

Gabriel took a deep breath and sighed. "I will tell you, but you will not like it. I'm going to tell you everything." The crow, who was sitting by one of the cabin's little round windows, cawed at him angrily. 

"No," said Gabriel. "He needs to know." The bird gave a little shake of its feathers, which to George seemed to say, "Whatever, asshole." 

Gabriel turned back to the ship's captain and sat in silence for a moment, as if trying to decide where to start. He cleared his throat and began his tale with, "Four years ago, when I was twenty-three, I came to Louisiana with my father . . . "   
  


Gabriel's father had accepted some jobs down there, designing and overseeing the construction of mansions for rich tobacco barons. They had seen his work in the north and wanted the same for themselves, regardless of the architect's color. By this time, Gabriel was well educated, and felt inclined to follow in his father's footsteps, careerwise. Somehow, this seemed to soothe over some of the tension that had been created by Gabriel's decision to learn the blade. His father devoted four hours everyday to teaching his son the job. 

When he wasn't busy with this education, and there was no other work to be done, Gabriel would wander the streets of New Orleans, taking in the sights and sounds of a city on the rise. There were a thousand little shops hidden in little side alleys, each to be explored. Down by the water front there were saloons and an occasional carnival. 

He was there only a month when he realized that he had learned a very loose french vocabulary. He could order food, and wasn't left looking stupid after someone told a joke. He didn't dare tell his father, though. His father was always complaining about the trouble he had making the cajun carpenters at his sites understand what he wanted. Gabriel feared his father would recruit him as interpreter and he would never make it into town again. 

It was on one of these excursions into town that he met a girl with a smile that he could not resist. He was wandering through the water front, looking at tent after tent of the psychics and tarot readers that the city seemed to attract. There were astrologers by the dozen and everywhere you looked there was someone swearing they could read your palms. He was passing one of these tents when he heard a high sweet laugh that made him stop in his tracks. Above the tent door was a cloth banner that proclaimed that "fortune telling, palm reading, spells, potions, and other" could be found within. He wandered back, and peeked in through the tent flap. There was a very pretty gypsy girl leaning over a woman's hand, tracing the lines there. She smiled and whispered something. The woman laughed and the girl laughed with her. It was her laugh that had stopped him. 

He stayed and watched for a while. The girl was talking too quietly for Gabriel to catch any of what she was saying, but her voice itself was enchanting enough. After a few minutes, the girl patted the woman on the hand affectionately and the woman began to stand up. He could see now that the customer was with child, and she was having a little difficulty getting to her feet. The gypsy girl jumped up and quickly walked around the table. The woman thanked her kindly as the girl helped her stand up. Once on her feet, she kissed the gypsy girl on the cheek and dropped a handful of coins into the girl's palm. The two of them walked toward the opening of the tent, and Gabriel quickly stepped back out of the way. 

"Don't you worry about a thing." said the gypsy girl. Gabriel couldn't place her accent, but it was very exotic sounding. "Your little girl is going to be just fine." 

The woman thanked her again and walked away. The gypsy girl turned to Gabriel with a very severe look on her face. "It's rude to eavesdrop." she said, not a hint of humor in her voice. She turned and went back into the tent, leaving him feeling like he had been slapped. He shook it off and followed her inside. 

"How much?" he asked. 

"Very rude." she replied. 

"No, I mean, how much to have my palm read?" 

She looked at him critically and said, "Well, you can't be that complex. A nickel." 

Gabriel pulled out his money purse and saw the girl's eyes widen at the sight of it. He knew she was cursing herself for settling so cheap. He clapped a nickel down on the small round table between them and put his money away. 

She plucked up the nickel and made it disappear down the front of her dress. I'd give the rest of my money just to follow that nickel, thought Gabriel. They sat in chairs at opposite sides of the table. She waved at him impatiently and he surrendered his hand to her. 

As soon as she ran her fingertips across his palm, he figured she had earned the nickel, fortune or no fortune. She had a light touch and he found it very arousing. His eyes wandered up to study her face, which was scrunched in concentration. 

"I see you are a free man." she said. 

"Easy call." he replied. His hands didn't have the heavy callouses of a slave, and what slave carried around a purse full of money. "What's your name?" 

"If it's so easy, you tell me my name. You're a northerner." 

"You have an ear for accents, but you haven't convinced me of any psychic abilities so far. I think you must have a flower's name, as pretty as you are. Daisy, Lilly, Heather . . . Petunia? Am I close?" 

"No. Your mother was chinese." 

He jumped a little when she said that. "I have asian eyes. At this rate, they'll never name a church after you." 

"I don't think you want to believe." said the gypsy girl, a smirk on her face. "Anna." 

"What?" he said. 

"My name." she said. "Anna." 

"Oh. I'm Gabriel. Are you really psychic, Anna?" 

"Not a lick. An angel's name for an angel's face, hmm?" 

Gabriel blushed and hoped his skin was just dark enough to conceal it. "But you told that woman she was going to have a girl and she would be alright." 

Anna shrugged. "She didn't really want to know the future. She wanted peace of mind. As far as it being a girl, I have a fifty-fifty chance. By the time the baby is born I'll be long gone and she will be happy with whatever she has." 

"You travel a lot?" he asked. She had stopped reading his palm, but Anna was still running her fingers across it. He would do anything to keep her doing that. 

"Yes. The tent and cart belong to my boss. He's a magician." 

"He pulls rabbits out of hats and that kind of thing?" 

"No, a real magician. He works spells and makes potions." 

Hmm" said Gabriel, and a second later he realized that he had let way more cynicism into his voice than he had intended. He recovered quickly. "Does he do love potions?" 

"Yes," she replied. "but it's not really love with those. Lust at best. So they're not worth what you pay for them." 

"So how much does a lust potion go for now days?" He could feel a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, and she had the makings of a smile on hers. 

Suddenly, a strong gust of wind went through the tent, and any hint of a smile on Anna's face quickly disappeared. 

"Time's up." she said, with a forced smile. She got to her feet and tugging on his elbow, ushered him to the door of the tent. "Come again sometime." 

"Wait." said Gabriel. Why had she changed her manner so quickly? "When are you done for the day?" 

Anna looked behind her, as if she were expecting to see someone, and then turned back to Gabriel. She put her hand on his arm, and he nearly squirmed with delight. "I work until very late." she said. 

"Well, can I see you again?" 

Again she looked behind her, and Gabriel got the feeling that she was afraid. "In the morning." she said. "I don't have to open the tent until noon. Now please," her voice quivered ever so slightly, and Gabriel heard it. "please go." 

That pleading look in her eyes was all it took to push him out the door, though every thing in him told him he should wait and see what had scared her so. He backed away from the tent fighting the urge to go back. She gave him a little wave, and then closed the flap. Gabriel stood for a moment more, and then turned to be on his way. 

From inside the tent, he heard a man's voice. If asked why, he could not say, but that voice made his gut turn cold. "Have you done well today?" it asked. Where the hell did you come from, Gabriel asked himself. That tent had been empty, save Anna and himself, only a moment before. 

"Yes." he heard Anna say. Her voice had lost all the confidence she had possessed when she spoke to him. It was timid now "I've made four dollars." 

He waited for another moment, and then reluctantly walked away.   
  


At nine o'clock sharp the next morning, Gabriel was outside the tent waiting for Anna to appear. Half an hour later, she stepped out and saw him crouching by the doorway. Her expression was that of surprise. 

"Gabriel?" she said. "What are you doing here?" 

"Have you eaten breakfast?" he asked, holding up a checkered piece of linen that was wrapped around enough food to feed six. 

"No." she said, trying not to laugh at him. 

"Do you know any place we could go to eat?" 

"There's a walnut grove not far from here. We can go there if you like." 

He slung the sack of food over his shoulder and motioned for her to lead the way. A while later, they were sitting on grass that was still a little damp with dew. He had given her his cloak to sit on, and then offered her the food he had brought. There were apples, cheese, french bread, even a crock with a cork in the top containing milk. He was glad to see that she was much more relaxed than she had been when he had seen her last. 

"So, what are you doing in New Orleans?" she asked, tossing away an apple core that had been stripped to the seeds. 

"My father is designing and building homes for some local tobacco farmers. I'm learning the trade from him." 

"Is your mother here?" She leaned back on her elbows, and Gabriel had to resist watching the way her breasts rose under her dress. 

"No." he replied. "She's dead. You were right, by the way. She was chinese." 

She breathed on her fingernails and polished them on the front of her dress, smiling proudly. "How did she die?" 

"She died when I was born. My father found her out west along the train tracks, where she had been a slave, working the food line for the crews building the railroad. When she came down with pneumonia, her master left her to die. When my father found her she was starving and nearly dead. He took her under his wing and nursed her back to health, but she never fully recovered from the sickness. He married her, and when I was born, it was too much for her and she died a little afterward." 

"I'm sorry." she said. She reached over and touched his arm comfortingly. 

"It's alright. I only know all this because of what my father has told me." 

"Still, I know what it's like to live without a mother. Bartholemew is the only family I've ever known." 

"Is that who came in the tent yesterday?" asked Gabriel. She seemed surprised that he had heard, but nodded. "He's the magician I told you about." 

"How did you end up with him?" 

"I don't know. I asked him what happened to my parents once, and he got very angry. I never asked again. " She became quiet then, but Gabriel got the feeling that she knew more than she let on. He was willing to let it go, for now. He decided a change of subject was what was needed. 

"Do you like fortune telling?" 

She wiggled her hand back and forth, like she was undecided. "It's ok. It keeps me fed, and I get to meet all kinds of unusual people." She looked at him meaningfully, as if he might fit into that bunch. 

"Ever really seen someone's future?" 

"Nah," she said. "but I've gotten lucky plenty of times. I'm wrong just as often, I'm sure. People who's lives turn out for the worst don't come back to brag like the winners." 

This was how the morning passed, idle conversation that was really just a mask for two souls growing together. He asked her questions, not just to know more about her, but because of the way he felt when he had her voice ringing in his ears. Closing his eyes, he knew that he would never be able to remember her voice exactly as it sounded. Later, he lay on his side in grass that the sun had finally dried, and he let his eyes trace the contours of her face and neck. 

When noon drew near, she announced that she would have to be going back. He helped her to her feet, relishing in the simple pleasure of holding her hand as he pulled her up. She didn't pull away, her hand lingered in his grasp for a moment after she had her feet and balance. He felt the slightest caress across his palm and then she dropped her fingers from his. It was enough, though, he knew she felt as he did. 

They walked slowly as they made their way back to her gaudy little tent. He asked if he might come for her again in the morning. "I'd like that." she said. "But wait for me at the walnut grove. I'll meet you there." 

They were at the tent now, and she turned to look up at him one last time before her goodbyes. She was about to raise herself up to give him a kiss when a voice came from inside the tent and sent a violent jerk through her body. Gabriel knew then. He had seen fear in her eyes yesterday, but it had been contained, concealed. In her surprise, her terror had shown its face. Anna was very much afraid of this Bartholemew, who ever he might be. 

"Anna." said the voice inside. 

She looked Gabriel right in the eye and mouthed the words, "Please go." He felt his hand reaching for a sword he had left at home, and half of him was thankful it wasn't there. He would have surely walked into that tent and run through whatever man he found there. Anything to get that look off her face. 

She pushed on his chest, and he reluctantly allowed him self to be sent away. Gabriel strolled a good distance away and paused at the corner of the street he would take. 

"Yes, sir?" he heard her say, a well practiced calm laced into her voice. 

"Where have you been all morning?" The flap of the tent was thrown open, and a tall, thin man exited it. He wore a simple suit, like a merchant might wear, gray with black stripes. On his nose rested a pair of round dark glasses that Gabriel guessed were meant to block sunlight. He held in his hand a top hat, which he sat on his head and pulled down enough to secure it. All in all, he hardly appeared a threat. Gabriel turned onto the next street and headed home. He thanked God he had carried no sword today.   
  


Anna was true to her word and was waiting for him in the walnut grove the next morning, as she was every morning over the coming weeks. She began asking him to leave her a hundred feet from the tent, so that she could return to it alone. Gradually, the urge to remove his sword from its trunk every morning faded. He saw little of Anna's employer, and the man never saw Anna and Gabriel together. He tried to breach the subject of her fear for Bartholemew a couple times, but Anna would not speak of it. 

Their time together was the high point of Gabriel's day. On their first trip to the grove for breakfast, they had sat at opposite sides of Gabriel's linen spread. As the days went by, they gradually moved closer and closer together, until they were sitting side by side upon his cloak. Sometimes he would wrap his arm around her back and let it rest on her hip. Occasionally, she would absent-mindedly place her hand on his thigh. Then they took to holding hands, which she escalated to a kiss one morning, much to Gabriel's delight. It had been timid at first, only the slightest brush of lip on lip, but she had added to it. She hooked an arm around the back of his head and pulled his mouth into hers. She had blushed three shades of pink. For the rest of the morning, when ever she looked at him she would break out in giggles. When he walked her back toward the tent, he carried his cloak in front of him.   
  


One night, he sat at home with his father. They were on the front porch to one of the bunk houses, resting in wicker chairs. John Allday was enjoying his pipe and the sunset over the distant forest. From time to time, he would look over at Gabriel, and he would smile, as if he knew something. 

Finally, he could not help himself, "Who is she?" 

Gabriel snapped his head up and said, "What?" 

"The girl, Gabriel. The one who has got you walking around with your head in the clouds. I haven't been able to ask you a question for a week without you answering, "What?" Who is she?" 

"Her name is Anna." said Gabriel. "She's a gypsy girl I met in town." 

"Hmm a gypsy. I've heard they can be pretty wild." He wiggled his eyebrows and Gabriel broke out in to a laugh. 

"She's a nice girl. She works one of the palm reader tents down by the river." 

John clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Well, I am glad you found someone, son. I was starting to think that you didn't like girls or something." 

"I just hadn't found the right one, that's all." 

"If you think she is the right one, you hold onto her, ok? You only get one true love in your life and you'd be smart to never let her go." 

Something had been bothering Gabriel for sometime now, and now that he had someone to talk to, he decided to bring it up. 

"The problem is, I think she bound in some way to the man she works for. She says she was too young to remember how she got stuck with him, but I think she knows more than she lets on . . . " 

"Gabriel, it doesn't matter. If she loves you, then that should be enough. There were a lot of things that your mother had done before I found her, some were her fault, but most weren't. The point is, they didn't matter. All that mattered was the short time we had together. You can't waste your time worrying about what she might have done before." 

"What if what she has done before could keep us from being together?" 

"Can't happen." said John. "If you are truly in love, nothing will stop it." 

They sat in silence then, watching the sky turn from orange to purple to black. The fireflies were coming out now, to dance their dance.   
  


Love is a funny thing. It almost seems suicidal in nature. It blinds you to danger. It tells you that everything else is trivial in comparison to this thing you're feeling. Bad ideas are suddenly the most sane course of action. 

There are angels that watch out for fools, drunks, and little children, and there are those that watch out for young lovers. They make the parent's keys fumble in the lock as a boy hops naked out of their daughter's window. They are the wind that hides the misplaced love letter. They distract the mother while the girl washes the bloodstained sheet. 

Sometimes, angels fail.   
  


The moon was full, and on its way to its bed when she met him in the grove. He kissed her, and ran his hands down her back. She pulled away, smiled, and then took him by the hand. She led him down to the river side, away from the docks and drunks, just a little sand beach with an overturned row boat. He spread out the quilt he had brought with him, and then knelt on it as she laid herself down before him. 

He felt clumsy with her, afraid that he might somehow injure her. With a sword, he was the perfect picture of precision and balance. But here, now, as he lay beside her, he felt very much the big oaf. The buttons down the front of her dress refused to come undone without a fight, and he couldn't seem to find a place to put his elbows or knees that wouldn't be poking her in some way. He noticed that she seemed to be having the same troubles. She fumbled with his belt for a full minute before he just undid it for her. It was becoming very clear that she was just as inexperienced as he was. At times, her hand strokes were too hard, and he winced in pain. 

Gabriel kissed his way down her chest and raised her skirts up past her hips, so that he could have a good look at her down there. By the pale moonlight, he could see clearly, and he realized that he was looking at dozens of tiny scars on her inner thighs. They crisscrossed in all directions, almost like a web. Some were just thin white lines, others were fresher, and were still covered with scabs. There was no natural reason they should be there. 

"Anna, what the hell are . . . " 

She grabbed him under the arms and pulled him up to her, shushing him with a kiss. She was raising her hips and grinding herself against him, and he forgot any questions he might have had.   
  


It's alright, she says,   
it's alright,   
Take anything you want from me,   
anything   
-Jimi Hendrix 

Later, they lay naked together, rolled up in the quilt for warmth. Over the back of her head, he could see the morning fog rolling up off the river. Dawn was only about an hour away, and far off, he could hear the shouts of the dock workers. A heron that hadn't spotted them laying on the shore was gingerly picking its way through the weeds. 

"Will you marry me?" asked Gabriel. 

There was a long silence and then she answered, "I don't know if I can. He owns me, Gabriel. He has every since I was very little." 

"How can he own you?" 

"I think my father made a deal with him and didn't live up to his end of the bargain. Bartholemew took me as payment." 

"What kind of father would just let him take you like that?" 

"I don't know if he did. There have been people who have tried to stop him, but Bartholemew kills them. You must understand, Gabriel. His magic is not an illusion or trick. It's real. He can raise demons, he can mix potions, he can whistle a tune and make you fall dead." 

"Bullshit." said Gabriel. 

She shrugged. "I've seen him do it." 

"There is no way we could convince him to let you go?" 

She rolled over quickly, so she could look him right in the eyes and said, "I don't want you go anywhere near him, do you understand? Sure, he'd be willing to make a deal, but when it was all said and done, he would have everything you ever held dear. One way or another, he always wins." 

There was a stonefaced conviction in her eyes, and Gabriel knew that she believed every word she said. "I can't live without you." he said. "There has got to be someway to get you away from him." 

"There is nothing you can do. If there is anything to be done, it will have to be between me and him." She kissed him, and then sat up to reach for her dress. As she began to put it on, she said, "I want you to promise me that you will stay away from him. I'm going to try to talk to him, but I don't want to have to worry about you doing something stupid. Promise me." 

Gabriel was reluctant, but she pressed him until he swore to do as she asked. Once he had, she looked genuinely relieved. She finished buttoning up her dress and got to her feet while Gabriel crawled out of the blanket and began to get dressed himself. He looked up once and caught her watching him. She turned away, red faced and embarrassed. Grinning from ear to ear, he pulled on his pants and boots. They beat the sand out of the quilt, and then he followed her up off the river bank and onto the streets of New Orleans. 

She insisted that he leave her a block away from the tent. She feared that Bartholemew might see them together looking like they did, and guess what they had been up to. 

"I'll see you tomorrow morning." she said. "Remember your promise." They kissed, and for appearances sake, they kept it short. In retrospect, Gabriel wished he had never let her go. But how could he have known he would never see her alive again?   
  


Gabriel waited in the walnut grove the next morning, and after half an hour began to get worried. He had seen hide nor hair of Anna, and his mind was starting to compose worst case scenarios to keep him entertained. By the time he had been waiting for an hour and twenty minutes, he had half convinced himself she had been raped and murdered on the way to see him. Don't be silly, he told himself, she probably just got stuck doing some mundane chore and couldn't get away. 

By eleven o'clock, he had tossed common sense out the window. His stomach was hurting from worry, and he could not shake the feeling that something awful had happened. He gathered up his things and started toward her tent. 

She was gone. The tent was gone, the only sign that it had ever been there was a slight discoloration of the grass where the tent had stood. There were wheel ruts behind the patch of grass where a carriage or wagon had sat. Gabriel stood in the open space, trying to piece together what might have happened. His chest felt like someone was standing on it, and he was fighting hard to keep from tears. 

He took a deep breath and looked around. He saw a little spot of white fluttering on a nearby pole. It was a piece of paper, he realized as he got closer to it. It had been secured to the wood with one of the hairpins he had seen her wear many times before. He pulled the note from the pole and opened it up. Inside, in childish block letters, were these words:   
  


He knows. He's taking me away from you. We are headed toward Richmond, Virginia. I'm scared.   
  


It was signed, Anna   
  


Gabriel shut his eyes and let out a shuddering sigh. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that he had crumpled the note, it was clenched tightly in his fists. He carefully smoothed it out and refolded it as she had done, and then placed it in his shirt. He dropped his bag of food and started home.   
  


Several of the carpenters working for his father shouted hello to Gabriel when he came walking through the site, but he didn't even give them a glance. His father looked up from his plans, and watched Gabriel striding toward the bunk house. Something about the look on his face told him there was trouble. He sat a paperweight on the plans, and followed his son. 

In the bunkhouse, Gabriel had thrown all his clothes out of his traveling chest and was strapping his sword around his waist. John Allday recognized murderous intention when he saw it. 

"What are you doing, son?" 

"He took Anna, Dad." 

"Who?" asked John. 

"Her boss, the one I told you about. I have to go get her." 

John sat down on the nearest bunk and pointed at Gabriel's sword. "Why do you need that?" 

Gabriel pulled on his cloak and said, "Because I am going to bring her back one way or another. I could use a horse." 

"Are you sure there isn't some other way? Maybe you could make some sort of deal with this man. I have money saved up, perhaps you could pay for her release from whatever bond he has on her. Anything but the sword, son. If you win, you're a murderer, if you lose, you're dead." 

"I can't take your money. You've worked too hard for it. If I could just get a horse." 

"Worthless." said John. "All the money, all the work I did to make it, it's worthless if I lose my son. You will take the money." He grabbed Gabriel by the hand and drug him into the office at the back of the bunk house. There was a safe in the corner and he quickly opened it up. There were stacks of money in there, and he began to place it into a leather carrying case, counting it in a whisper as he dropped each bundle in. "Twelve hundred." he said when he was finished. "That should be more than enough." He held the bag out to Gabriel, who made no move to take it. 

"Take it, Gabriel. Take it or I will not let you have a horse." Gabriel took the bag from his father, who put his hand firmly over his son's for a moment. "Leave the sword. If this man is any kind of business man, he will take the money and give you the girl. You don't need the sword." 

"I have to take it. There is the chance that he won't take the money. One way or another, Anna will come home with me." 

John had seen the look he saw in his son's eyes now only once before in his life. A little china woman had looked him straight in the eye and said that she didn't care if it would kill her, she would not give up the child. He dropped his hand from Gabriel's and lead his son out to the stable, where they saddled one of the fastest horses. Gabriel threw the handles of the leather carrying case over the saddle horn and mounted up. 

"I'll be back." he told his father, and then he rode out of the stables tall doors. 

John knew it was a lie.   
  


Goading it with his heels, Gabriel pressed the horse into a full run, and they pounded their way down the dirt track in a flurry of dust and flying gravel. He dodged in and out of caravans of wagons, searching for any sign of Anna and Bartholemew. Who knew when the two had left, so they could have had up to a thirty hour lead on Gabriel. They were traveling by carriage, so the going would be slow for them, while he was flying along at breakneck speed. 

At midafternoon, he stopped to give the horse a chance to rest, and walked it around to wind it down. When it had cooled down some, he let it drink water and picketed it while he went to question some of his fellow travelers. No one remembered seeing a girl with Anna's description, but a few perked up when he described Bartholemew, specifically, his little round sunglasses. They remembered him driving along a fancy coach with advertisements for psychics and magic painted all over the side. Gabriel thanked them and went back to reclaim his horse. 

Four hours later, he trotted the horse into a meadow sitting along side the road. The wagon was there, as was the palm reader tent. A small fire was burning outside, and a couple of rabbits roasted above it. Two draft horses were picketed nearby. 

Gabriel dismounted and pulled the leather bag of money off of the saddle. He left the horse to roam on its own, and walked toward the tent entrance. The flap was open, and a strong breeze was blowing from inside the tent. Gabriel ducked as he entered, and when he stood up, he took in a breath of surprise. There was another entrance to the tent. Another flap opened out the back, and through its opening, he could see an exquisite hall made of marble. 

It must be some kind of illusion, he thought. This tent was not that big. The room he was looking into through the canvas doorway was of size that would befit a mansion. As he walked closer to the opening, he could see that the ceiling was a good fifty feet high. 

The hair on the back of his neck was standing up now. He crossed through the opening, the crunching of grass beneath his feet turning to the clack of boots on a marble floor. There were open windows all around the room, and it was through these that the strong wind was blowing. When he had entered the tent, the sun had been setting, but through the windows, the sky was the black of night. Torches burned in their holders around the room, casting the room in a flickering light. In one corner there was a grand harpsichord with piles of sheet music strewn over its top. 

"Pussy." a voice behind Gabriel said. He spun around and saw a man sitting in a large wooden chair, next to a roaring fire place. He recognized Bartholemew right away. "Cunt." he continued. "Twat. Snatch. Cooz. Pretty hole. Hairy hole. Different names, all meaning the same thing. A little funny smelling hole that a man is willing to throw away his life for just to be able to stick his pecker in it." 

Gabriel walked toward the man, and as he got closer, he could see scratches all over the man's face. They looked like they might have been caused by a cat or some such animal. 

"I've seen kings throw away their kingdom, leave their wives, give up their own children, just to fuck a little piece of ass that isn't any better than another. You'd be surprised what I've seen, Gabriel." 

Gabriel stopped. "So, you know who I am." 

Bartholemew nodded. "And I know why you're here. Pussy." He whistled a short little tune, and Gabriel caught a flicker of movement in the fire burning next to Bartholemew. For just a fraction of a second, he thought he saw an image of Anna in the flames. "What's in the bag?" 

Gabriel squatted and sat the bag on the floor. He opened it so that Bartholemew could get a good look at the cash inside. "Twelve hundred dollars. I want to buy Anna away from you." 

Bartholemew whistled at the sight of the money. "Hell, her father was only in debt to me for five hundred, and she has long since worked that off. Day before yesterday, I would have probably have said yes, but that was before little accidents happened." He waved his hand over his face, indicating the scratches. Casually, he reached over the edge of his chair and picked up a flute that was leaning against it. 

"Are you believing in magic yet, Gabriel?" 

Gabriel realized that everything he was seeing, everything, was a testament to this man's abilities. He was standing before a real magician. "I believe you have power." he told Bartholemew. "Where is Anna?" 

"Later." said Bartholemew, with a wave of his hand. "It's you that is important now. You have a debt to me." 

"How do you figure that?" 

"Blood. Virgin blood. I use it to summon demons. For nineteen years, Anna has been my medium. I would use her blood to help me work magic, because I knew I could always rely on her to be pure. Apparently, that changed a day ago, unbeknownst to me. I attempted to summon a demon, and the spell went sour. The demon died, and in its death throes did this to me. I believe you are the fellow that . . . deflowered her. You have a debt to me." At his feet there was a bag full of tightly rolled pieces of paper. Bartholemew picked it up and sat it on his lap. 

The reason for the scars that Gabriel had seen on Anna's inner thighs was readily apparent now. They were cuts for Bartholemew to extract blood from her. Gabriel could feel his hand, far away, sliding beneath his cloak. "Where is Anna?" he repeated. 

"Very well." said Bartholemew, slightly annoyed. "If I don't show you, you will never shut up about it." He waved his hand and a curtain to their left slid back to reveal a large four poster bed. Anna lay at the foot of it, her head hanging limply over the edge, bouncing to the rhythm of the thing raping her. She was dead. No doubt from blood loss, thought Gabriel. The outer edges of the bedclothes were white, but the remainder of the blankets were a dark crimson color. Every time the thing slammed into her, it made sick squishing sounds, as if the area between her legs had been torn to mush. Gabriel looked up from his dead lovers face, and at the thing that mounted her. His mind threatened to shut off on him, after it tried to make sense of it the first couple times. 

In shape, it reminded him of some great ape, hulking and stooped. Its body was made up of what looked like hundreds of thorny vines, bound and knotted together into muscles and tendons. It's eye's were two roses protruding from holes in the front of its gnarled head. It had no mouth, nor nose, nor ears. It had thick fingers that were covered in thorns. It was using its hands to hold onto Anna's bare shoulders, and she was raw and torn there. The penis, that Gabriel could see tearing in and out of Anna, had even larger, more jagged thorns. Bits of her flesh hung from them. 

Gabriel crossed the room at a run, his sword flashing from his sheath. "No!" became his chant, his mantra. He jumped into the air, and drop kicked the thing off of Anna. It hit the end of the bed and came to rest against the headboard. Gabriel was on it an instant later, slashing through its thick flesh, screaming with rage. He kicked its head, and its skull collapsed beneath his boot. It stopped moving. 

He stepped down off the side of the bed, taking care not to look at Anna. If he did, he was afraid he would not be able to look away. He turned his attention to the magician, who had gotten up from his chair and crossed the room. He was standing at the base of a large staircase, watching Gabriel. Gabriel started toward him. Bartholemew pulled one of the rolls of paper out of the bag he had slung over his shoulder. He snapped it open with one hand and then whispered a few words to it. When he pulled his hand away, the paper remained floating in midair. He brought up his flute and began to play a very strange sounding melody. Almost instantly, there was a change in the air. Gabriel could feel the hair on his body twitching and he was getting very cold. Directly in front of him, the air began to shimmer, and something began to pull it self from it. At first a flash of skin, then what looked like a naked breast. Slowly, the thing pulled itself together out of nothingness. 

It looked feminine, almost erotic. Its body was covered with a leathery type flesh that glistened in the light of the fire. All over its body, tentacles protruded, stretching out of her like fast growing plants. They snapped about, like snakes, and at the end of everyone, there was a set of fangs that gnashed and snapped together. He was looking up at its almost pretty face, so he guessed that it was seven feet or taller. It moved with the grace of a dancer. It slid across the marble floor toward Gabriel, who raised his sword in anticipation. 

His blade tore into them, severing them and leaving them writhing on the floor. More grew in their place. The tentacles struck at him, biting and slicing. He warded off some of them with his blade, but they were just coming to fast, from too many directions. Their bites were poisonous, he could feel their venom burning through his veins and going to work on his lungs and heart. His sword was getting heavier, and after another minute of this, he could no longer hold it up. Its tip fell to the floor, and then a moment later he sank to his knees. 

Behind the creature, Gabriel saw Bartholemew pluck the piece of paper out of the air and tear it in half. The thing standing over him began to shriek in agony. Its body disintegrated, a reverse of how it had come into being. Seconds later there was nothing left of it but a distant echo ringing through the marble hall. 

Bartholemew walked over to Gabriel, and then sat on the marble floor in front of him, just out of swords reach. "While I don't like to have a debt go unpaid, I think it is time for you to go now, Gabriel. But take heart! You have impressed me this day. I believe I shall write a song in your honor." 

He raised the flute to his lips, carefully placed his fingers over the holes, and then slowly blew a note. Audibly, Gabriel could barely hear it, it was just a faint whine on the very edge of his hearing range. He could feel it, however. It reverberated through the veins and blood vessels in his head, making them twitch and ache. Pressure began to build, and if wasn't for the fact that he was too weak, he would have raised his hands to his ears. His eyes felt like they were going to vibrate right out of his skull. He felt something warm pour out of his ears and fell over onto the floor. Blood pooled around his head . . . 

"The last memory I have was Bartholemew taking out a feather pen and a blank piece of paper. He dipped the tip in my blood and then began to write. I was gone after that. Three weeks ago I woke up in a Louisiana swamp." 

"But how does that explain how your head came to be on that thing?" 

"It was Bartholemew's magic. He takes the blood of his victims and uses it to write spells, spells in the form of musical compositions. He can change you into anything his sick mind can imagine. He saw me as the thing up on deck, so that was how he wrote me in the music." 

"Then how did it get out here to the ship?" 

"I don't know. He must have made it materialize out here somehow. I'm sure that I've only seen a fraction of what the man is capable of doing. Sending the creature here would be no hassle for him." 

George had been listening intently for more than an hour. He sat up now, and asked a question that he was not sure he really wanted an answer to. He had seen what the creature on deck had done to Gabriel. No normal man should have lived through that. 

"How did you survive?" 

"I didn't." said Gabriel. "I am a dead man." 

George would have thought that hearing that would be enough top make any man run from the room screaming, but he just sat there, maybe a little stunned. If there wasn't a head sitting on the table in front of him, if there weren't two half eaten men laying on the deck above, he might have thought Gabriel was lying. But things were the way they were and Gabriel's was the only story that made sense. 

"Why are you going to Spain?" he asked. 

"Because that is where he is." 

"How do you know?" 

" The bird is leading me that way, so I know he's there." 

"The bird? You mean you're following a crow?" 

"The crow is what brought me back. What else do I have to go on? Do you still intend to throw me overboard?" 

"No." said George. "But I need to know if we can expect more of what we fought tonight." 

"Possibly. That was the sixth one I've fought since I came back. Incidently, I think it would be best if we destroyed the carcass. One of the ones I fought in Birmingham stood back up and came after me anew after I killed it." 

"Will do." said George. "Do we need to burn it?" 

"I'd just chop it up and throw it over board. Its body didn't look like it was made for swimming." 

We've seen what it was made for, George was going to say, but thought better of it. He knew, that Gabriel hadn't intended for all this to happen, but he still felt some resentment for the man. He shouldn't have brought this mess on George's boat. 

"I'll stay on deck." said Gabriel. "Keep an eye out for any more of those nasty fuckers." He pulled out the makings for his reefer and began to load his pipe. 

"I doubt I could go to sleep if I wanted to. I'll join you." He watched Gabriel light up, and after a minute, said, "Umm, would you mind if I tried some of that?" 

"It's the least I could do." said Gabriel, handing him the pipe.   
  


By midmorning, the body of the abomination was disposed of, and the deck was cleaned up. The two half eaten corpses were given burials at sea, and later, as Gabriel and George sat on deck sharing a bowl, George wrote a detailed, but clearly falsified report of the two sailors deaths in his logbook. According to his version of the events, they had fallen overboard and been eaten by sharks. The rest of the crew quickly agreed to his story, because they knew how crazy it would sound if they were to tell the truth. At best, the story would only become ocean legend, not to be believed. 

"I was wondering." said George, when he had finished his writing. "Was that mansion you died in real?" He still had to fight to keep from chuckling when he said something like that. "That you died in." Such an off hand way to mention such a staggering event. 

"Yes." said Gabriel. "I think that it is his actual home. He opens a doorway in the tent somehow to get to and from the place." 

George rolled his eyes, and scratched his head. He was having to deal with way too many new concepts too quickly. "Gabriel, you have to understand that I am doing my best to make sense of all this." 

"So am I. I've had three weeks to think this stuff through, and much of it still doesn't make sense. It's like I know some of the things he does, but I'm not sure why. I know he makes deals with people, to do magic or grant wishes, but he always tricks them into settling on a price they can't possibly pay. When they don't pay, he takes their children instead. I don't know what he does with all the children, but I think he's been doing it for a very long time." 

"Do you think he is some kind of vampire or something?" 

"No, I think he's something else entirely." 

"You want that I should dock the boat in La Caruna and me and the crew come with you to carve this fellow a new asshole?" 

"No." said Gabriel. "You have been good enough to me as it is, Mr. Hackard. The crow has given me powers that protect me. You have no such gifts, and though you are no doubt a splendid fighter, Bartholemew would surely kill you." 

George handed Gabriel back his pipe, and slapped the man on the shoulder. "You're a good man, Gabriel Allday. I think I should have liked to have known you in life." 

"And you." said Gabriel. 

He turned and looked out over the water, staring intently as if he might be seeing something out there. George realized for the first time that he hadn't seen the crow all day. 

Gabriel dozed through the afternoon and into the evening, leaning against the railing at the bow of the ship. Behind his lids, images flashed, some not much more than colorless blurs, others sharp and distinctive pictures of faces and places. He was seeing what the crow was seeing. 

He was sitting atop the mansion. It was much larger than he had thought it was. He had only seen a few of its rooms on the night he died, and it had given him no clue of the grande scale of the place. It looked like the exterior had been carved from the granite mountain next to it. It was beautiful, a carved network of columns and vines, so intricately shaped that Gabriel wondered if magic hadn't been used in their creation. He had an architects eye, and the structure before him had him enchanted. 

"Pay attention." he heard the Crow say. It had a woman's voice, and sounded grumpy. 

It turned its head and Gabriel's vision swam. It was looking up the mountain, now. 

"You see that?" it said. Gabriel tried to see what the crow wanted him to, but all he could see was a blank cliff face in the waning sunlight. 

"Fucking humans." said the Crow. "Too damn near sighted to recognize anything that's not in your face." The ground fell out from under them as the Crow took wing and flew toward the mountain side. Gabriel could sense some of what the Crow was thinking, and it seemed to be a jumble of flight thought. "Left wing down, right wing up, wind off cliff face strong, take care, turn into breeze, get altitude" 

"Now look," said the Crow. They were passing over a narrow walkway that had been carved out of the side of the mountain. They followed its path up, much too far above the earth for Gabriel's taste. He felt nauseous. The path ended at the opening of a small cave, which Gabriel only got a quick glance into as they circled away from the mountain. He had seen a strange red glow at the entrance, that seemed to shimmer like water. 

"What is it?" he asked. 

"It's where all the children are. Remember that, Gabriel." They glided down into the valley, back toward the mansion. 

"What was that thing I saw inside the cave." 

"A magical ward of some sort, no doubt. The markings on your face will protect you from some magic, but not all. You must take care." Gabriel thought he heard it sigh then, a terribly tired sound. 

"Are you ok?" he asked. 

"It's just that this is taking longer than it usually does, and it's having a strain on me to keep you alive. I've never done this for more than four days, and we're on our third week now. I'll be fine, there's just no time for dilly dallying. Understand? We tear him apart and then we go." 

"I understand." said Gabriel and then he added, "Thank you." 

"No problem." said the Crow, and Gabriel was waking up.   
  


"Good luck." said George, when four days later, they were shaking hands on the gang plank. "Are you sure you won't take us with you?" 

"No need." said Gabriel. "I'll kill the bastard. You've been good to me, George Hackard, when any other man would have tossed me to the sharks. You have my thanks." 

"Well, we'll be docked here for four more days. If you need us, hollar. That is if you can find one of us sober." 

"I'll keep it in mind, Mr Hackard. Good-bye." 

Gabriel walked down the ramp and into the crowded streets of La Caruna. His Crow was with him again, giving him directions, nagging him to get a move on. It was weary, Gabriel could tell, and it's disposistion was getting nastier. It didn't complain to him, but it spent most of the time resting, and there were times he could swear it was leaning against his neck for support. Gabriel could see it getting weaker by the hour now. 

"Just one more day." he whispered to it. It was sunset when the boat had docked, and walking nonstop, it was still a full days walk to the mansion. There was a nervousness in his gut now. It was almost over. Just one more day. 

He ran in a straight line, the way the crow flies, some would call it. He ran when the terrain permitted, stretching muscles that had grown soft during his voyage. He walked where there was a dangerous path, knowing that any injuries he sustained would only drain the Crow further. He ran up one mountain side and down the other. He scattered herds of deer as he raced through green meadows in the witching hour. When he crossed a river at dawn, he had to carry the Crow with his hands held up above his head. It had become too weak to even fly. 

The rest of his journey, he carried it cradled next to his chest, like a baby. It made him feel bad to see it like this, but he knew the only thing he could do to help it was to keep going, and finsh this business as quickly as possible. 

He reached the road leading up to the mansion in the late afternoon, adn again he was awestruck by the sheer size of the place. It was very intimidating, and he doubted that any of the locals went near the place. 

The Crow would be no help from here on in, so he took off his cloak and gingerly wrapped it up. He placed the bundle up in the crook of a tree where nothing would be at it. He would be alone now, just his sword and what little of the Crow's magic that still burned within him. That and his hate.   
  


Elaborate landscaping had been done all around the mansion, and the lawns were immaculately maintained. There were topiary done in the shape of mythological animals, and flower beds overflowing with roses. Fruit trees ran in straight lines, pregnant with apples and pomegranates. They gave off a sweet odor that made Gabriel's stomach grumble for the first time since resurrecting. A stream ran through the yard and water gurgled through its cobblestone bed. Dragonflies danced across it's bubbling surface. Stone fawns stood to each side of the mansion's main entrance, frozen in midnote while they played their Pan flutes. 

The windows of the mansion were all empty, but Gabriel had no doubt that the Piper was home. The Crow would not have lead him here otherwise. He checked to make sure all of his weapons were in place, and then he started his charge. 

Gabriel crossed the vast lawns of the estate at a quick run, one hand steadying the sword at his side. He expected to be attacked before he reached the front door, and was not disappointed. A mongrel dog came around the east end of the building, huffing and snarling. This was no ordinary dog. It was striped like a tiger, only in shades of brown and black. It was roughly the same size as a brahman bull. Gabriel's scent had brought it running, but now it could see him and it charged in his direction at full speed. Gabriel raced to meet it and the distance between them was quickly closed. At the last second, Gabriel jumped, placed one boot atop its head and launched himself into the air. His leap took him well over it, ending ten feet behind the beast. Gabriel landed on his feet and turned to meet its attack. 

The dog was still facing the other way. It had dropped its head and was making a hacking sound, and it's belly was heaving like it might vomit. Gabriel wondered if he had somehow injured it. The dog gave one last heave, and in a torrent of fluid, a long sinuous shape thrust from its mouth. It was a tentacle as thick as a man's arm and it seemed to have no end as it shot out and then up over the dog toward Gabriel. He took a half step backwards before the thing was on him, wrapping around his waist like a bullwhip. It yanked him forward, dropping him onto his face and dragging him through the grass back toward the mastiff. He clutched at the grass, dug his fingers into the dirt, anything to get himself stopped. The pull of the thing that had a hold of him was too strong, and was gripping him in such a way that he couldn't draw his sword. The dog had turned around, and opening it's mouth wide. Its jaw popped loudly, and Gabriel realised that it was unhinging it, like a snake does before consuming its prey. It intended to swallow him whole. 

He jerked his knees up and got the toes of his boots dug into the ground. He kicked himself forward, flipping over onto his back with his feet facing the dog's mouth. Glands all around its mouth were squirting out saliva in anticipation of him. He hoped to disappoint it. 

He was picked up off the ground at the last as the tentacle pulled him into the awaiting jaws. He kicked hard, aiming as well as he could under the circumstances. His boot shattered it lower jaw, and then the next kick crushed its snout. He aimed down ward, cracking its front legs painfully with his heels. It wasn't so interested in eating him anymore. The tentacle jerked out away from the dog and slung Gabriel across the yard. 

He got to his feet, sickened by the saliva dripping from him, but glad to be free of the tentacle's grasp. The dog was stumbling in circles, the tentacle whipping around it. It was in a great deal of pain and was just lashing out blindly, in hopes of hitting what had injured it. Gabriel rushed in and finished it off quickly. He thrust his sword in where its heart should have been, and then wrenched the blade around in little circles until the thing fell dead. The tentacle was still twitching and coiling when Gabriel walked away from it. 

Gabriel threw the front doors of the mansion open and walked into the main hall. Immediately, the skin around his eyes began to crawl and itch. "The markings on your face will protect you from some magic" the Crow had told him, and he could feel them going to work. He didn't know what kind of spell they were protecting him from, but he had the feeling that he would be laying dead on the floor without them. 

Paintings lined the walls. There were quiet a few pictures of Bartolemew in clothes from various periods, sometimes wearing a beard or mustache, his hair worn at a different length in each. There was a yellowed drawing of a Piper leading an ocean of rats through narrow streets. One particularly old mosaic even showed a halo around his head. He seemed, to Gabriel, to be a very vain man. 

A screeching sound drew his attention toward the balcony. Something that looked like the cross between a cricket and a monkey jumped off of the staircase and bounded across the room toward him. He could hear its claws scraping and clicking on the marble and it shrieked with rage. He let it come to him, and when it made it's last leap, he shoved his sword through it, impaling it in midair. It died with a squeak and he let it slide off his blade onto the ground. 

Flute music echoed down to Gabriel from the balcony above. He ascended the stairs at a run, and slid out onto the walkway at the top. The music was coming from the left. He started down the hallway, sword held out to the side, but ready. The air directly to Gabriel's right bagan to shimmer, too close for him to use his sword. He reached for the back of his belt and pulled out one of his throwing daggers as the thing took shape. 

It's was a hulking thing, covered in hair and sporting ram's horn's from the side of it's head. It's feet were those of a goat, and tusks sprouted from its lower jaw. It had a bulging potbelly, and it was into this that Gabriel slammed his knife. He struck just below the belly button and then yanked up on the handle, gutting the thing. When his blade hit the base of the sternum, he pulled it out and drove it into the forehead of the beast. It's foul smelling entrails poured out onto his feet, and he had to fight the urge to vomit. The creature fell back against the wall behind it in a heap. Gabriel wrenched his knife from the things head, and wiped it clean on his pants. 

He stepped over it and continued on his way up the hall. He could see the Piper standing at the end of the hall, now. The man had his flute to his lips and a piece of music floating in the air in front of him. He was beating out another tune, and Gabriel thought Bartholemew looked a little worried. 

A man shaped thing formed out of the air in front of Gabriel. Instead of arms, it had long chains that ended in maces. It leaped and jumped through the air and the maces whipped around it in deadly arcs. One of them raked across Gabriel's chest, the jagged metal spike ripping furrows through his flesh. Gabriel took two steps back, and sheathed his sword, knowing that it wouldn't be much help with fighting this. He looked left and right for something to use in his defense. On the left wall, there was a painting of Bartholemew having dinner with a dozen other men. Gabriel grabbed the painting and used it to catch the creature's next strike. The mace tore through the painting, and Gabriel snapped it's frame. He wrapped the canvass around the ball twice, and then gave it a good solid yank. The creature fell on it's face and slid across the slick marble floor. Gabriel stepped on the back of it's neck and pinned it to the ground. He added more weight to the foot and the neck snapped. 

Bartholemew had pulled out another piece of paper and began to play yet another song. Gabriel moved down the hall way toward him, pulling out his sword as he ran. The Piper backed up but continued to play his song. Gabriel cut the sheet music he was playing in half and kept going. Bartholemew was playing in a panic now, bleating out off notes as he tried to pull out another piece of music. Gabriel slashed at the Piper, dividing his flute into two useless pieces. 

"You had a debt!" the Piper stammered. "What I did was just!" 

"Consider it payed in full." said Gabriel, and he drove his sword through the Piper's throat. 

He pulled his sword back out and the Piper stumbled back away from him, clutching at his wound. He made a hoarse, painful sounds and fell to his knees. His mouth kept opening and closing, but no sounds was coming out. No doubt trying to work out some deal, thought Gabriel. The piper coughed one last time and then fell to the ground. 

Gabriel closed his eyes and smiled. Finally. It was over, and he could rest now. He stood there waiting for the feeling of peace that he knew would come. After half a minute, he knew something was wrong. The Crow had promised that he would feel peace when he set the wrong things right, and then shortly afterward, would rest in peace. He still felt rage inside, the desire to kill. He clutched his sword handle tightly and moaned. He had been tricked. 

He opened his eyes and looked at the body on the floor. It wasn't Bartholemew. It was just another of his tricks of form and sound. Gabriel gave the body a good solid kick and then went back down the hall. He went down the stairs and looked around the main hall for any sign of the Piper. At the far end was a set of double doors, and Gabriel could see fire light flickering from between them. He walked over, opened one of the doors, and stepped inside. 

It was the room he had died in. Deja vu hit him like a hammer, and when he turned his head, he half expected to see Anna being raped upon the bed. The sheets were white now, and the bed was empty. The fire was blazing in the fireplace, and Bartholemew stood next to it. 

"You certainly took your time getting here." he said, not bothering to look up from the piece of sheet music that he was reading. 

"Then I won't waste any more of your time." said Gabriel. He fairly trembled in anticipation of the thing he was about to do. 

"Wait." said Bartholemew, holding up one finger as he crossed the room to a harpsichord that was covered with music sheets. "I wanted your opinion on something I've been working on." 

Gabriel followed him and said, "Go ahead. Summon whatever twisted monstrosity your sick mind can conceive. Play all your songs, and sic all your abominations on me, and I'll kill them all. And when I'm done with them, I'll still run you through. You're only putting off the inevitable." 

"Monstrosities? Abominations? I see you're not a fan of my work." Bartholemew began to play, and Gabriel felt the familiar change in the air. He moved quicker, his every intention to shove his blade through the side of Bartholemew's head. He heard movement behind him, and he turned toward it. He nearly dropped his sword in surprise. 

"You see," he heard Bartholemew say behind him. "I can make things of beauty, too." 

Gabriel had been expecting Anna. He knew that sooner or later, Bartholemew would play that card. He had prepared himself for it, told himself over and over again that no matter how real the magician made her seem, it wouldn't be her. When it came down to it, though, it wasn't Anna that the magician used. 

A boy lay on the cold marble floor, shivering and crying. He looked to be about two years old, and wasn't wearing any clothes. He looked to be perfect in every way. Gabriel let his sword drop from his hand, and it landed on the floor with a clatter. He crossed the room in slow stumbling steps and then scooped the boy up into his arms. 

"I'm very proud of him." said Bartholemew as he continued to play on the harpsichord. "I've never tried combining the blood of two people before. He is for all intents and purposes, yours and Anna's child." 

Gabriel looked down at the boy cradled next to his chest. It was true. He could see the slight slant in the eyes that he had inherited from his father, the curly brown hair his mother had worn in a ponytail. His skin was a light cream color that would darken with age, but probably not as dark as Gabriel's. He was as beautiful as his mother. 

"It's time for you to make some decisions, Gabriel. This song I'm playing, it's forming him, even as we speak. I tell you I haven't left out a single detail. This part I'm playing now, it's creating nerves and pathways through his little brain. I've written in parts that will help him age, I've given him the ability to laugh, he can even love, should he ever find the right girl. He is my masterpiece, and I am offering him to you. 

So this is what you have to decide. You can let me finish the song, and the spell will be tied off. You can walk out of here with your son and never come back. Or I can stop playing right now, and he will dissolve in your arms." 

The baby in Gabriel's arms had stopped crying, and when he looked up he smiled. His mother's smile, thought Gabriel. He closed his eyes tight against the tears he felt coming, and pulled the boy close. He felt so real, Gabriel could feel his tiny heart beating through his back. Could he walk away? Having a son had been enough to help his father go on. Could it be enough for him? 

"What will it be, Gabriel? Will you have your revenge, or will you have a son that you can raise, and love?" 

Love? What did this monster know about love? What had Anna said about Bartholemew's spells and potions? Oh, yes. "It's not really love with those. Lust at best. So they're not worth what you pay for them." He's always willing to make a deal, she had told him, but when it was all said and done he would have everything you held dear. 

Gabriel realized then that he wasn't holding something that could be in his arms. He was holding what should have been. And it was the fault of the man playing the harpsichord that it couldn't be. 

He raised the baby up and kissed it gently on the forehead. "This isn't how it's done." he whispered to it. "I'm sorry." He spun around, his free arm reaching behind his back. It reappeared, clutching one of his throwing knives by the blade. The arm holding the baby clenched tighter, and he sobbed as he threw the knife. He didn't even have to look to know that it had found its mark. A moment later, the music stopped and he found himself holding nothing. 

His arms dropped to his sides, and he turned to see the Piper sitting up straight, wearing a look of surprise. The knife was buried to the hilt in his forehead. A second later, he fell forward, striking his face on the keyboard of the harpsichord with a resounding crash. The weight of his head had shoved the knife the rest of the way in. 

Gabriel felt a warmth wash over him like a lover's hands. His hands, that were clenched into fists, relaxed and opened. It was over. All that was left was the children in the cave.   
  


Edgar was very tired, so he didn't hear the black man the first couple of times he called out to him. Gradually, he had become aware that someone was calling out, "Hey, boy! Wake up!" After a few more times, he pulled his eyes open and looked toward the mouth of the cave. Through the distortion of the ward, he could see that there was someone standing out there, and it wasn't the Piper. 

"Shhhhh!" he heard himself saying. "He'll hear you!" He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and crawled weakly toward the cave's opening. 

"Don't you worry about that." said the man, who Edgar could now see was a negro. "He can't hear anything where he is. What's your name?" 

"Edgar." he said. He thought about what the man had said for a second and then the meaning dawned on him. "Do you mean that he's dead?" 

"That he is." said the black man. "What do you know about this here ward, Edgar?" 

"Whu-?" said Edgar, still trying to cope with the news of the Piper's demise. "Oh, it's made to keep us in here. It hurts really bad if you try to go through it, and it'll kill you if you don't get out of it." 

The black man looked the situation over carefully, and then reached out a timid hand to test the ward. A second later he was thrown back across the narrow ledge, and to Edgar's horror, nearly fell over the cliff. He picked himself up, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. 

"I was just seeing if it worked both ways." he told Edgar. "I guess that answers that question. How did he get all of you in there? Did he turn it off somehow?" 

Edgar closed his eyes and tried to remember back to the day that the Piper had brought him here. He had thrown him through. Edgar had received some nasty scrapes from the fall, he remembered. No, that wasn't right. He had thrown Edgar down after they were already in the cave. 

"He walked through it with us." he told the black man, when he opened his eyes. "It didn't hurt, either." Damn it, thought Edgar, why hadn't he thought of it before? Clever my ass, he told himself. 

"I'll be right back." said the black man and he got to his feet to leave. 

"Wait!" said Edgar. The man stopped and looked down at him. "Don't forget to come back, ok?" 

"I won't." said the man, and he walked back along the ledge and disappeared. 

Ten minutes later, he returned with a corpse slung over his shoulder. He heaved the body off, and let it fall part way through the ward. It was the Piper, Edgar could see when the head flopped through the distortion of the ward. He had to suppress a giggle. The expression on the corpse's face said that death had been a surprise to him. The black man knelt down and looked through the ward at Edgar. 

"What do you think?" he asked. Not that he is interested in my opinion, thought Edgar. He's just talking while he builds up his courage to try it again. After a few more moments, the black man reached his hand out toward the ward again. He hissed slightly when his fingertips touched it, and then let out a sigh of relief. He stuck his hand the rest of the way through and clapped Edgar on the shoulder. 

"What do you say we wake up the others?" He got up and stepped through the ward unharmed. He helped Edgar to his feet and together they walked farther into the cave.   
  


An hour later, Gabriel watched the children over the dying embers of his fire. They lay in groups all across the mansions lawn, numbering twenty three all together. They had refused to step foot in the Pipers house, and Gabriel didn't blame them. He had gone in and retrieved blankets for them and they had dropped off to sleep while he watched over them. In the end, only the boy, Edgar, was left awake. Together, they set about the arduous task of destroying the music. 

Gabriel had carried out the sheets by the armful, while Edgar kept them burning. There were hundreds of them, each marked with strange names, some even written in other languages. Each was a testament to a life lost, and it was no cheerful thing to see them burning. 

Gabriel had found Anna's song, right under the sheet music Bartholemew had been playing at the time he had died. If the baby hadn't worked, he would have tried to use Anna against him, as Gabriel had predicted he would. He held that song back, but burned all the others, sorting through them one by one, reading the names and then tossing them to the flames. 

"This is the last one." he said. "I guess he already destroyed the one he wrote for me." 

Edgar stared at him from across the fire, wide eyed. "You mean, he made one of these of you, too?" 

The boy didn't know what he was, Gabriel realized. "You're sitting with a ghost, Edgar. Can you handle that?" 

The boy thought about that for a minute and then said, "You got me out of that cave. You could be the devil for all I care. Hold on! What's your name again, mister?" He got up on his knees and started digging through his pockets. He tugged out a crumpled piece of paper that had been folded over and over. 

"Gabriel." 

The boy unfolded the paper and turned it so that Gabriel could see. It said Gabriel across the top. 

"Where did you get that?" he said, taking the sheet music from him. 

"I stole it from him." said Edgar. He wore a wry grin when he said that, and Gabriel knew the boy was proud of pulling one over on the Piper. "We tried to make it work like he did, but nothing happened." 

"Maybe it did work." said Gabriel. 

Edgar thought about it for a second, and then said, "Hey, yeah. Maybe it did." Pride bloomed on his young face. 

"Edgar, I need you to do me a favor. I need you to take the rest of the children back down to La Caruna, and look down at the docks for a ship called the Dolly's Sloop. There will be a man named George Hackard there and I want you to tell him everything. He's a good man, and he'll take good care of you." 

"Can't you take us? I don't know if I could find my way." He watched Gabriel take the last two music sheets and overlap them. 

"I'm sorry, but I can't." said Gabriel. "I'm going to be leaving soon, but I can do this. Once I am gone, a crow is going to come to you. Follow it, it knows the way." 

Gabriel rolled the two sheets up, and then starting at the bottom, began to twist them together. When he was finished, he reached out and touched them to the flames. They ignited and began to slowly burn. Edgar watched the smoke rise off of them, drifting lazily into the sky. A gust of wind hit it, splitting it into two tendrils that spun and danced around each other. They formed back into one, and then dispersed in the night air. 

When he looked back down, Gabriel was gone. 

The Crow opened it's eyes. It was over. It had felt Gabriel leave this world only moments before, and it could already feel the power rushing back into it's little body. It's strength was returning by the second. It wiggled, trying to work it's way out of the cloak that confined it. It was still too weak. Give it a couple of minutes, it thought, you'll be stronger. It was true, a couple of minutes later it kicked and pushed it's way free and got shakily to it's feet. 

That will teach you to accept a mission of vengeance that takes you halfway around the world, it thought. Time to go see if the kid had got the job done. It flapped it's wings a couple of times to test thier strength, and then the Crow took to the air. It quickly gained altitude and soared up the road toward the mansion. As it got closer, it was taken back by what it saw. 

Below it, ethereal shapes moved. They were human shaped and nearly transparent. Human eyes would not have seen them, but the Crow lived in both the physical and spiritual plains at the same time and could easily see the souls of the departed. There were hundreds of them crowding the lawns around the mansion, some were talking and greeting loved ones, others were weeping hysterically. The Crow could see a line of ghostly children descending from the cave in the mountain. When they reached the base of the mountain, they ran into the crowd of spirits, looking for missing parents. 

"Not bad, boy." thought the Crow. It turned it's attention to the groups of solid forms laying around the lawns. The Crow passed over the living children, who were still sleeping, oblivious to the activity around them. One boy was still awake and was sitting next to a pile of cold embers. He looked up and smiled when he saw the Crow. It landed a couple feet away from the boy and shook itself. 

"Hello." said the boy. "Gabriel said you would come." 

The Crow bobbed it's head in response and looked around the yards. It saw a ghost leaning over one of the sleeping girls, and he looked familiar to the Crow. Of course, it thought. It was Jim Thomas, the man who had challenged Gabriel back at the docks. The Crow watched the man sit down on the grass and begin yanking angrily on his hair. He cursed vehemently and started to weep. 

"He said he would let her go!" wailed the ghost. 

The Crow turned back to the boy and cawed. Being around this many ghost made it nervous. One of them might start asking for favors. 

"I'll wake up the others." said the boy and the Crow waited to lead them away. 

________________________________________________________________________   
Well, there's another one. Thank you for taking the time to read this monster. If you have any comments or cursewords, e-mail me at [bcampo@hotmail.com][1] It's your letters that keep me writing these stories.   
If you liked this story, you might like my others which are all posted at my webpage, [Bad Monkey Comics!][2] Thanks again, Brian Campo 

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[][3]

   [1]: mailto:bcampo@hotmail.com
   [2]: http://www.angelfire.com/or/bcampo
   [3]: /or/crowffa/fanfic.html



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